


Inflorescence

by paulatheprokaryote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Humor, Next-Gen, Professors, Romance, Teaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:31:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulatheprokaryote/pseuds/paulatheprokaryote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>Professor Sage Evergreen, Hogwarts’ latest and greatest herbologist, grant writing extraordinaire, and resident “cool” teacher discovers that academia can be more of a challenge than she previously anticipated.</p>
<p>A story of clandestine meetings, ridiculous pranks, and bets placed on the lives of students.</p>
<p>Al/OC</p>
<p>Flawless banner by Calico @ the-dark-arts.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

The tavern of Three Broomsticks Inn was bustling with back to school excitement. All of the shopkeepers were anxiously anticipating the return of their precious income flow. Professors waddled their way from the castle to the bar. Madame Rosmerta tried to keep up with the demand of patrons, but ultimately her enthusiastic apprentice, Epona, kept the place afloat.

I sat rigidly at the bar feeling incredibly exposed. There’s just something about having your back to an entire room that makes some people evaluate every single possible scenario of their impending doom. I am definitely one of those people. One firewhiskey too many and the man sitting five barstools down who keeps teetering back and forth might just sink his fork into my back on the way back from the loo.

I’m not really even a bar person, but Flitwick said it’s tradition at Hogwarts that every professor meet up before the welcome feast. Anxiety combined with my compulsion to be on time had me sitting by myself twenty minutes before we were meant to gather.

“You must be Evergreen,” a handsome, green eyed man took the spot beside me.

“Potter?” I asked. Of course I’d know who he was. Even if we hadn’t been the same year at Hogwarts together, it’s impossible not to see the tabloids every time I check the post.

“Albus. The best of the Potters,” he grinned and motioned for a drink from Epona.

I snorted into my glass of firewhiskey.

“What? I am! My dad is so overrated,” he shot an eyebrow, but still smirked.

“Your dad? Yeah, I mean he’s savior of the world and all, but you can’t honestly tell me you’re superior to Lily Potter. She singlehandedly put Chudley Cannons back on the map,” I teased. 

“I’m more of a Puddlemere guy myself,” he laughed, finishing his first drink and requesting another.

“Talk about overrated,” I laughed along. I didn’t really watch much quidditch. Just enough to get by in a world obsessed with it.

“I’m so glad the pair of you are already here!” Flitwick pulled himself onto the stool beside Albus.

“Sage! I’ve heard all about your work with ever-nourishing soil. Very impressive indeed! I certainly can see why you earned professorship!” The tiny, silver haired man beamed pleasantly.

“And Albus! Great to see you!” He slapped him on the back, causing Albus to choke on the glass of firewhiskey he was sipping.

Rubeus Hagrid, Septima Vector, and Sybill Trelawney all clamored into the tavern, Cuthbert Binns floated behind the group in his spectral form. Greetings and congratulations were exchanged as the group spoke amicably. The buzz of the place seemed to be amplified now. The entire room resonated with laughter and the clinking of glasses.

“This is bizarre, right?” Albus leaned in unnervingly close to me, his lips accidentally brushed against my ear.

“Drinking with all of our old professors, you mean?” I whispered back, ignoring an electric tingle tracing my spine.

“Exactly! I feel like I’m about to be scolded at any moment!” He glanced suspiciously at the group all barking with laughter at something Hagrid said.

“I think they just want to have a valid reason not to pay attention to the sorting ceremony,”

“Can’t really blame them,” He snickered. The sorting ceremony was notoriously incessant. Abruptly, Hagrid stood up from the tiny bar stool beneath him and forced us all to drag ourselves back to the castle. He stayed at the train station to usher the students to the castle. I wasn’t entirely sure if Sybill was drunk off her arse or if that’s just her natural state of being.

“Is Sybill toasted?” I whispered to Albus as we fell behind the group on the way back to the castle, Sybill leading the charge, swaying back and forth across the gravel path.

“No, I don’t think she even drank anything. That’s just who she is as a person, I suppose,” Albus murmured.

Headmistress McGonagall pursed her lips as we settled into our uncomfortable wooden chairs, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive. I'd been instructed by her three times already to call her Minerva, but there's no way I'll be able to ever do that.

“Don’t worry, she used to go with us before she was headmistress,” Vector openly mocked the petrified expression of Albus. Albus seemed to relax ever so slightly. Students began to pour into the great hall in small groups as each carriage arrived.

When the hall filled up, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and the sorting began. The wobbly kneed first years took turns sitting on the stool and trying on the sorting hat. What are terrifying experience that had been. Who decided that should be done in front of the entire school?

I glanced around the room, filled with slight trepidation at being at the head table. Sure, I’d spent ample time as a student staring up at the professors with a vacant expression, but I’d never been the one being stared at. I glanced around the table to see how the other professors handled it. I happened to catch a peek at Sybill just as she dropped a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her water goblet. I exchanged a glance with Albus, who’d seen it too and was choking back a laugh.

A wiry haired girl that only faintly resembled my sister strolled up to the stool and confidently sat down. I couldn’t help but beam with pride.

“You know her?” Albus whispered, following my gaze.

“That’s my baby niece, Isadora. She’ll be badger for sure,” I whispered back, watching the sorting hat argue with her.

“I bet she’s going to be a Slytherin. She’s got that look in her eye,” He winked obnoxiously at me. My cheeks seared. What if a student saw that and got the wrong impression?

“BETTER BE...SLYTHERIN!” The hat called theatrically.

My mouth gaped open in surprise before I quickly clamped it shut. I tried my best to smile at her enthusiastically and hide my shock. Issy glanced up at my table with a humongous grin before running off to join the snakes.

“Told you,” Albus said simply.

The hat and Albus must see something I missed.

When the sorting was finally finished, Professor McGonagall began her start of term notices. They were the same as when I had attended. You’ll die in the Forbidden Forest, leave the giant squid alone, listen to your prefects. It was easy to tune her out. Until she called my name that is.

“I’d like to introduce two new members of staff. Professor Evergreen, who will be taking over herbology, and Professor Potter, who will teaching potions,” Albus and I stood up when she said our names. The students gave a bored, half hearted clap which definitely hurt my feelings ever so slightly. I’m going to literally be the coolest professor that Hogwarts has ever seen. They should clap properly for me!

One thing that I didn’t realize I missed about Hogwarts was the food. Yeah, my sorry attempts at following recipes in my dingy apartment during my apprenticeship were fine enough, but nothing could compete with Hogwarts food. A sideways glance at Albus savagely devouring a turkey leg told me he probably felt the same. He grinned at me, bits of turkey sticking out of his teeth and said “good, huh?” I withheld a cringe and agreed with him.

When students were dismissed, chaos ensued. A handful of first years lost their prefects, so Albus and I guided them to older students of the same houses. I had three Hufflepuff firsties with me and Albus had two Slytherins.

“No one mentioned how stressful it’d be being a new head of house,” Albus remarked as he bade me and my pack of badgers good night.

“Alright, badgers. Follow me,” I insisted, leading them past the large still life of fruit that was the entrance to the kitchens to a pile of oversized wooden barrels in the shadowy stone recess in the right-hand side of the corridor.

“Watch closely or you’ll find yourself covered in vinegar. No one likes a pickled badger,” I began earning hard to come by laughs from the nervous kids.

“You want to tap the barrel two from bottom,” I demonstrated, “then right here in the middle of the second row. Do it to the tune Helga Hufflepuff. It’ll be easier.”

The barrel’s lid swung open, and I climbed into the crawl-way. The students followed me, climbing into the common room.

“WHOA!” A messy haired boy in the front whispered.

“I know, right?” I glanced around at the place that was my home for so many years. Vines dangled from nooks and crannies around the room. A warm fire flickered on the far side of the room, entertaining some of the older students. The place was teaming with floor cushions and cozy nooks to read in. It was just home.

“Boys, your dormitory is through this door and to your left,” I pointed. “Girls, the same but on the right.”

I began to walk away to my own quarters, but stopped short.

“If you ever need anything. If you’re feeling lonely, or you miss home, or anything, feel free to come find me,” I smiled down at my ickle first years, who returned a smile.

My first day as a Hogwarts professor wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be.


	2. II

The familiar earthy musk emanated from the ceramic pot of soil. There was something so tranquil about the mindless task of filling the smaller containers for the next period with three scoops each. The distant sound of birds calling for their lovers filled the quietude.

The students will never admit it when there’s more glamorous class options like defense against the dark arts, but when they are planting seedlings or watering their asphodel plants, they feel it too. Herbology is the best.

The screened door to the greenhouse slammed shut, causing the trumpet tulips to tremble.

“Hey, Evergreen! You in here?” Albus’ voice rang out, causing the tulips to shake and honk uncontrollably.

“Shhh!” I simultaneously hushed him and the tulips.

He anchored himself to the stool across from the tulips, watching in amusement as I added compost tea to the tooting flora. The blaring noises finally died down and the tulips only quivered slightly.

“What can I do you for, Potter?” I spoke lowly so as not to disturb the tulips further.

He slapped a stack of papers down on the bench.

“You’re applying for the Minister’s Academic Research Society grant?” I asked, glancing over the top page.

“Yep. Ole Cuthbert said you could help me with it. I’ve never applied to MARS before,” He shot a toothy grin my way that reminded me of summer for some reason.

“Binns has plenty of free time to help you himself,” I rolled my eyes, “But I’d be happy to. I’m nearly done with my own.”

“Excellent,” he sat, looking at me expectantly.

“But not right now. I’ve got third years coming in here any minute,” I added hastily.

“Right, right. I’ve got a free period,” He ran his hand through his messy black hair.

“I usually use my free period as a planning period,” I replied conversationally.

“I’ve been using it as a snack break. A planning period would probably a better use of my time though,” He grinned, jumping up suddenly from the bench.

“Let me know when you have some availability, Evergreen,” he called back just as the first of my third years began trickling in. There was something playful and flirtatious in his voice that cause the third years to look at me suspiciously.

I didn’t have any availability until later that evening, after dinner. If there’s one thing I hate about professorship at Hogwarts, it’s sitting at the staff table in front of the entire school. If you dribble just a smidge of gravy on your chin, you're the laughing stock of the student body for weeks! I voiced this thought to Albus who only replied with a noncommittal shrug.

I let Albus know that I’d be at one of my two offices throughout the evening, either in the greenhouses or in my tiny, glorified water closet they call an office on the first floor in the castle, depending on how far I got in my work. He found me, an hour later, rotating the dragon dung. He entered the greenhouse, a disgusted look resonating across his tired face.

“It smells like shit in here--oh!” He noticed the fertilizer bin.

“Shut it,” I growled. No one likes the odor, but it must be done.

“You should really get the students to do the dirty work,” He snorted, green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I tried. One of them usually faints and I have to drop everything and take them to Pomfrey.” Three attempts so far and I decided it simply wasn’t worth it. He frowned, but settled into the cleanest potting bench he could find and began shuffling through his papers.

“So, I’ve sorta outlined my experimental design, methods, and materials,” He began, stacking each of those pages into their own pile.

“Let me guess, you’re struggling with the abstract?” I speculated.

“YES!” He huffed dramatically.

“I always write mine last. It’s much easier that way,” I murmured, scanning through his forms.

“I’d clarify your objective one and two better,” I pointed. He scribbled notes on a separate piece of parchment.

“Be more specific,” he repeated to himself, running his free hand through his tousled hair.

“Anything else?” He glanced up at me, soft green eyes shining in the artificial light.

“I’d also refine your timeline. It’s a bit ambitious. If your procrastination level is anything like mine, you need to give yourself some cushion.”

“I think once you write out your budget and clarify how you’re going to evaluate your potion you should be able to write your abstract,” I concluded, handing him his paperwork back.

“You should have became a professional grant writer instead!” He laughed, reshuffling his papers.

“Ugh. That sounds like the absolute worst job in the world,” I groaned.

“Need any help in here?” Albus offered after glancing around the greenhouse.

“That’s okay, I’m just going to sow some wormwood seeds before I go to bed. It’s quite tedious,” I went to a previously set up bench with seed starter trays sprawled everywhere.

“I don’t mind. Besides, most of my wormwood comes from your crops anyway,” He sat down across from me and helped pat soil into the trays.

“It’s pretty cool how self sufficient Hogwarts has become,” I thought aloud.

“It really is,” He agreed. There were no further words to fill the silence as we tirelessly filled each seed starter tray with soil and sowed seeds in each. It only took about an hour to complete the usually incredibly long, dull task.

“Are you heading back to the castle?” He asked, helping me carry the completed trays to the shelves stacked with grow lights.

“Yeah, I just need to grab a folder of essays to grade tonight,” I replied, sluggishly searching my potting bench for the already soiled stack of papers. Albus waited for me by the door. When I reached him, he took the pile of essays that needed grading from my arms.

“I can carry those!” I protested. I’m a strong, independent witch who doesn’t need a wizard.

“I don’t mind. There’s very few exercising opportunities around here so I need to lift weights,” He pretended to flex obnoxiously, prompting an eyeroll from me.

The golden moon was already peeking well above the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, but the forest was eerily silent. The hairs on my arms stood erect. I wasn't sure if it was from the creepy forest, the chilly air, or the warmth of Albus' arm occasionally pressing against mine.

“It’s pretty draining, isn’t it?” Albus asked conversationally as we exited the now locked greenhouse.

“What?” I asked, clueless as to what he was on about.

“Being a teacher.” He said simply, gently knocking his shoulder against mine again.

“I suppose so,” I answered nonchalantly.

“I mean, I really enjoy it, but it’s not the same as just locking yourself in your work station and getting stuff done. You have to help so many people and make sure they actually retain what you tell them,” He sighed.

“It’s a lot of pressure. They’re the next generation of great minds. I don’t want to do them a disservice just because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” I voiced a rather private concern of mine. I’ve semi-obsessed over this exact conversation in my head half a dozen times since I began.

“What if I’m teaching someone who has the potential to be the greatest potioneer of all time, but I don’t see the potential so they end up working menial jobs at the ministry.” Albus wondered aloud.

“I’m sure that won’t happen.”

“It could!” He protested vehemently, turning to look at me with a stony face.

“If they were that talented, something as minor as a new professor wouldn’t throw them off that badly,” I reassured him gently.

He paused his step, startling me, searching my face briefly. I felt my eyes widen slightly. Whatever he was doing was making me mighty uncomfortable and slightly excited. He smiled a lopsided smile at me and took another step.

“You’re probably right,” He conceded.

It took me a second to mentally catch up, “I usually am.”

“Is this it?” He asked, gesturing to my office door. I didn’t even realize we’d entered the castle, much less got here so fast.

“Yep.” I answered simply.

“Well, I guess I’ll give you these,” He handed back my papers.

“Good night,” My voice shook slightly. He took a step forward, looking down at me with those shining green eyes and gently curved lips. His hand reached out toward my face and I instinctively shut my eyes. A rustling noise caused me to open them. He was holding pieces of tattered leaves.

“You had a bit in your hair,” He blushed almost as red as my face felt.

“Thanks,” I hoarsely whispered.

“Good night, Sage.” He whipped around and walked back down the hallway.

After he left, I retreated through my office to the concealed door that lead to my cramped living quarters.

What in the world is wrong with me?


	3. III

Albus thundered into the staff room, startling me so terribly that I nearly dropped my freshly brewed cup of tea. He moodily flopped into a creaky wooden chair at the table where my papers were stacked.

“Uh, everything alright, Potter?” I asked, gently sitting my cup of tea in front of me.

He stared at my tea mug sullenly. “Fine.”

“If you say so,” I shrugged. Monday afternoons weren’t really my thing. I have dirt caked permanently under my fingernails and one fourth year sprayed me with a misguided augamenti charm and I hadn’t changed yet and I really, really wanted to take a nap.

I sipped my tea across from him, thumbing through the essays I had to grade. I’ve decided to set the curve by grading the rest of the papers compared to the highest scoring paper. It seemed fairest.

Albus sighed dramatically three times before I gave in and looked up at him.

“Ready to talk now?” I asked simply. If he wasn’t, I’d keep reading my papers. He remained quiet for a few passing seconds before speaking.

“They’re all so--so belligerent!” He cried out with a genuine, yet ridiculous look of anguish.

“Your students?” I asked sympathetically. Merlin knows I’ve had to deal with some little trolls so far. It can’t be any easier for him.

“Yes!” He growled.

I hummed in response, which seemed to infuriate him.

“WHAT DO I DO?” He banged his hand on the table with each word. His exasperated expression, while pathetic, was quite adorable. We’ve barely been here two weeks and he’s already having a nervous breakdown.

“Have a cup of tea and remember you’re dealing with teenagers?” I offered sarcastically.

“They literally don’t listen to me at all!” He moaned on, ignoring me. Maybe he didn’t want my input at all. Maybe he just wanted to listen to himself whine.

“What do you do?” He asked desperately, looking slightly deranged.

“I ignore them. If they don’t want to listen, I won’t help them when they need me. I make them use the textbook instead,” I replied.

He seemed to contemplate my words, as if it was too easy to use my method.

“You know, you should really loosen up a bit, too. The students all say you’re a tight ass. Or in the words of a Ravenclaw third year that I gave detention to yesterday, ‘an inflamed sphincter.’” I added thoughtfully before taking another sip of tea.

“Was it Bradley Hartstring?” Albus knitted his dark brows together.

“The very one.”

“Little shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“They aren’t wrong though. Remember when we were young? You always harass the strictest teachers. It’s practically the law,” I ignored him.

“Well, if I’m not strict in the potions classroom someone might produce something toxic or dangerous,” Albus reasoned, clearly frustrated.

“Well, you can be strict on that kind of stuff, just not everything. If a student comes in late occasionally or whispers to a partner, it’s not worth freaking out over,” I reasoned.

“Now they already think of me that way so I can’t do anything about it,” He grumbled, shining green eyes meeting mine for the first time.

“I challenge you to a prank war!” I smirked. I have no idea where the idea came from. It’s a bad, bad, bad idea. It’s too late though. I’ve already said it.

“A prank war?” He inquired, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

“Yes. We each prank the students somehow and then see which prank was the best. They’ll see you’re not that bad” I confirmed my terrible idea.

“How would we decide which was best?” Albus knitted his brows together once more. “Obviously both of us will be biased.”

Vector chose that moment to walk in, bumbling with a stack of papers twice the size of mine and an empty coffee mug. Albus grinned roguishly.

“Septima!” He shouted unnecessarily loud in the small staff room.

Vector nearly dropped her stack of papers. Albus just had that way about him, I suppose.

“Albus, what can I do for you?” She finally gave up juggling and slammed her papers on an empty table.

“Sage and I want to have a little competition, you see, and we need an unbiased judge,” He began. She looked skeptical. She should be.

“We want to pull some harmless pranks on the students,” He continued. She looked even less convinced.

“Completely safe,” I added for emphasis.

She seemed to think it over for a moment, no doubt trying to find a polite way to tell us off.

“I’m in,” She replied conspiratorily. I was surprised to say the least. I had Vector back when I took arithmancy and she was notoriously stern.

“Whichever prank I hear more students talk about will be the winner,” She decided, filling her mug with tea from the kettle.

“Deal,” Albus grinned mischievously.

“Deal,” I agreed.

I finished my tea and graded approximately a third of the papers. Albus seemed to be in a much more chipper mood, scribbling out plans to prank the students. Every time I looked up, he’d pull his parchment toward his chest and made a noise that vaguely resembled a hiss.

I finally left the giant man-cat to his prank planning and went back to my office for the rest of my planning period. I’d decided to write a multiple choice quiz with no correct answers on it. The students would absolutely freak out.

_Question One: What is Devil Snare’s lesser known weakness?_

_A. Holy water_  
B. Aerated clay  
C. Turnip juice  
  
I found myself barely suppressing a maniacal cackle as I made copies of the parchment for each of the students. So as to not truly waste their time, every student that recognizes the prank will receive five bonus points. At the end of the period, I’ll give a lecture about being confident in your answers or some nonsense.

My last class of the day, my two o’clock with fifth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins, I passed out the quiz and waited. Sitting casually on my potting bench, pretending to read the textbook, I basked in the terror of the nonsensical pop quiz. One girl, a pretty Ravenclaw with raven hair incessantly circled and scratched out answers with a look of pure alarm. I noticed several other students following her actions with the same expression. I choked back a cruel laugh. One Slytherin boy raised his hand, so I slowly made my way toward him. He whispered, asking me if we’d gone over Venomous Tentacula yet or not. Finally, one brave Slytherin girl with static hair motioned me to come to her. I sat beside her, waiting for her question.

“These are all wrong,” She quietly stated.

I nodded my head, not wanting to give that information away to the class, even if the sound of the mandrakes in the greenhouse over masked her question.

I pulled her quiz away and simply wrote +5 on it, taking the quiz back with me to my potting bench. Finally, the rest of the class turned in the quiz. No one else pointed out the wrong answers. We continued through the lesson on the dangers of working with snargaluff pods. I didn’t particularly want any students to lose an arm. I decided against giving the student the lecture on confidence today. Maybe next period. I want to see who marked what so that I can judge them harshly for eternity.

With my last class of the day completed, I grabbed dinner early and sprawled out in my living quarters. While quite small, an extension charm made the quarters feel much more breathable. I expanded the living room to fit a loveseat and two vintage leather chairs I found at a furniture store in Hogsmeade. Bookcases filled with herbology books and various potted plants lined the cold, stone walls, mimicking my office. I didn’t bother expanding the bathroom or bedroom because the small size suited my needs just fine. Finally in comfortable flannel pajama bottoms with a full belly, a knock rasped against my office door. I hurried to it, half expecting it to be McGonagall berating me for my poorly thought out prank. Instead, I was greeted with the pleasant smile of Albus.

“I didn’t realize you were turning in for the night!” Albus mumbled, tucking a few dusty bottles behind his back.

“What have you got here?” I asked excitedly.

“I snuck off to Hogsmeade, got some butterbeer from Rosmerta, and thought we could grade papers together,” He suggested quietly. Quietness did not suit the usually boisterous man.

“Come in, come in!” I ushered him through the door excitedly. I’m always down for that warm, butterscotchy drink. We settled in, both on the loveseat. I sat cross-legged with a pillow placed comfortably in my lap. I think that’s something anxious people do for reassurance. He popped open two butterbeer bottles, handing me one.

“What are you grading?” He asked, glancing at my nearly finished pile of papers.

“The prank. I gave my students a quiz with absolutely no right answers. Only one student noticed,” I snorted.

“Wow, really?” He said in disbelief, picking up the paper on top and scanning through the questions.

“If they ever come across Devil’s Snare, at least ninety percent are going to splash holy water on it, y’know,” He laughed, reading through the answers.

“I know! I’m terrified I’ve killed them all now!” I joked along.

The silence that fell was not awkward as it might have been with a barely known coworker, but rather comfortable. His upturned lips made me think he felt the same way. He held me in a gaze that seemed simultaneously petrifying and exhilarating. It was just one of those Albus things, I suppose.

“I did my prank too,” He said finally, breaking the comfortable silence. He let out a small chuckle, as if remembering a joke no one else knew. His laugh was the kind of laugh that made you feel like you were sitting in front of a cozy fire, wrapped in soft blanket.

“Oh no, what’d you do?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, we definitely think on the same wavelength. I gave the class a scolding for not turning in an essay that was never assigned, telling them it was worth a third of their grade,” He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“And?”

“And I congratulated Magnus Flint on his perfect score,” He laughed once more, filling the empty room with a welcomed warmth.

“MAGNUS?” I snorted in disbelief, nearly spewing butterbeer from my mouth.

“Yeah! The dolt went right along with it too, bragging about his academic excellence!” Albus snickered.

“No! Tell me he didn’t! It’s a miracle he even passed his O.W.L.s,” I giggled. Magnus was an egghead quidditch player. I had a sneaking suspicion that he only passed some of his classes because his entire house wanted him to play quidditch. Rumor has it he is ruthless on the pitch.

“That’s exactly what all of the other students said!” He laughed, which reached his emerald eyes, causing them to crinkle.

“Did you tell them it was a prank?” I asked, feeling slightly guilty that I hadn’t done so yet.

“No, not yet. I’ll do it next period.” He said decidedly.

“Good, I didn’t tell mine either. I’m going to lecture them over the responsibility of standing up to others when they know they are wrong.”

“Good idea. I’ll do something like that too,” He agreed.

“Then it’ll seem like a coordinated effort to teach principles to the students. Oh, that’s exactly what we should say when McGonagall inevitably drags us into her office,” I decided, shuffling through the quiz parchment.

“You think she’ll buy it?” Albus asked skeptically.

“Probably not,” I laughed, causing him to laugh too.

That was my favorite thing about Albus Potter. It was impossible to be around him without the sound of ringing laughter close behind. Wherever he went, laughter was inevitable. We graded papers until the wee hours of the night, laughing incessantly and sloshing our butterbeer.


End file.
